


All Cats Are Welcome In Hera's Garden

by Moorishflower



Category: Echo Bazaar, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All cats like mice, and all cats like cider, but not all cats like humans. In fact, very few of them do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Cats Are Welcome In Hera's Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the States Below universe, begun with "Bat Country".

  
Sam hates the game of Pass the Cat.

It's not because he's adverse to a little bit of fun (like his brother says he is), and it's not because he considers himself to a great ally of the Duchess (he isn't). It's for reasons that he has trouble articulating out loud. Reasons that only really fully come to him when he's asleep. He tries to explain to Dean that Pass the Cat might sometimes be done with the cat's consent, but sometimes it _isn't_ , and then it's something cruel, something awful. Locking an animal, a thinking, breathing, _talking_ animal up in a tiny box…it's just not right. If it were something like…he doesn't know, Pass the Sorrow Spider or Pass the Fungal Bloom, he knows he wouldn't object nearly as much.

Dean is excited, when he hears that Pass the Cat is spreading across the States Below, moving from Hellena to Beaten Rouge, and then, finally, to Lawless. Dean has never managed to catch a cat before, and he's eager to see what all the fuss is about.

"Think of all the secrets they know, Sammy," he says eagerly. "Maybe we can get one to tell us where the closest deep amber mine is! Or where we can find some glim clusters!"

And Sam knows that they need the echoes, they always do, but he just…can't bring himself to condone this sort of thing. He _can't_.

So, when the box shows up on the doorstep of their apartment, he's initially horrified.

It's a plain cardboard box, with no markings of any kind. The top is taped heavily shut, and on the side of the box is a note written on yellowing parchment. _Do the right thing,_ it says, in flowing, ancient script. Sam carefully picks up the box; it's heavy, and slightly warm. He brings it inside, and sets it down on his bed.

"What's that?" Dean asks, voice muzzy with sleep.

"Nothing," Sam says quickly. Maybe a little too quickly, but Dean doesn't wake up fully, just blinks sleepily at him from the other bed. "I…I bought a book."

"Big fuckin' book," Dean says, but he rolls over, facing the wall, now, and soon enough Sam hears his breathing even out again. Sam touches his temples, rubbing fiercely, and then he picks up the box again and carries it to the bathroom. Something scrabbles around, inside, shifting against the cardboard, and Sam sets the box down in the tub and then carefully closes the door behind him. If it _is_ a cat, he doesn't want Dean to get a hold of it just yet. Sam loves his brother, but he's also intensely aware of how much his brother hates cats.

"All right," he says softly. "Let's see what we've got here."

He pulls his knife from his back pocket, flipping it open and then carefully slitting the several layers of tape keeping the box shut. He _has_ to be careful, because if he just plunges the knife down he might hurt whatever is inside, and that's the last thing that Sam wants. So he painstakingly peels back the tape, one piece at a time, until finally he can open the box.

"Oh," he says softly, because it _is_ a cat. It's one of the most beautiful cats he's ever seen, with blue eyes, huge and lamplit like the spores of the Jewel Fungus, and patches of black spread across its shoulders. Like wings, he thinks. Its fur is matted and unkempt-looking; Sam wonders how long it's been inside this box.

The cat peers up at him, blinking slowly. When it sees him examining the state of its fur, it hisses, like it's ashamed. Sam doesn't reach in to lift the cat out. That would be impolite.

He tries to keep his voice low. "My name's Sam Winchester. We have to be quiet. My brother's in the other room, and if he sees you, he'll want you to lead us to…I don't even know. Amber deposits, or something."

The cat stares at him, and then rears up onto its hind legs, putting its paws on the edge of the box. It's shaking, Sam realizes. It's not strong enough to jump out of the box.

"Is that not what humans desire of us? Secrets? Knowledge?" the cat demands. Sam has never heard a cat speak before, not up close, not to his face. Not like this. Its voice is quiet, assured, a little bit arrogant. Sam gets the feeling that most cats sound like that. But he also gets the feeling that most cats don't sound…sad. Downtrodden.

 _Defeated_.

"That's not what I want," Sam says quietly. "Well, not…this way. May I…?" He holds out his hands, as if in supplication, and the cat deigns to stick out its nose and sniff the tips of Sam's fingers.

"You may assist," it says, after a moment, and Sam can finally reach into the box, can hook his hands underneath the cat's skinny body and heft it up. It's lighter than it should be, and Sam immediately sets the cat down on the floor, on the bathmat next to the tub. He has the idea that it's probably more comfortable than the bare tiles.

"Will you not be asking any questions, then? Demanding any secrets?"

"I don't really need secrets," Sam says.

"Everybody needs secrets. Elsewise, there would be no such thing as common knowledge."

"I'm sure you're right." Sam drops to the floor, sitting with his knees pressed up to his chest, holding them close. The cat examines him critically.

"…I am called tomcat Lucifer," the cat says, after a moment. _Lucifer_. Such a beautiful name. Sam's never heard it before. He wonders what it means. "Are you certain that you wish to demand nothing of me?"

Sam shrugs. "I'd like to see the surface someday, but I doubt that's something you could help me with."

"Do not be so quick to dismiss me," Lucifer says severely. "Nor the abilities of any cat. If it is a glimpse of sky you desire, that is within the power of many."

Sam blinks. "You could…you could take me to the surface?"

Lucifer sniffs, and then bends to the side in order to give his fur a quick grooming. Sam has to wait while he cleans himself, trying to work the matted clumps into order again. He imagines it can't taste very nice, and, after a few minutes, Lucifer appears to give up.

"You misunderstand," he says. "I never said that _I_ could. I merely said you should not be so quick to dismiss my abilities."

"Oh." Sam feels a whisper of disappointment wind its way down his spine. Lucifer stares, unblinking, at him, and after a moment Sam straightens his shoulders and takes a deep breath. "You, uh, look like you've seen better days," he says softly. "I know that cats aren't all that fond of water, but…well, I could help with your fur, if you're willing to get a little wet."

"It is not the water that we despise," Lucifer says. "It is the drowning. It is foolish, to trust humans. They become Drowned Men and they do not even care."

"I'm not a huge fan of swimming myself," Sam admits. Lucifer eyes him cautiously, and then flicks his tail once, and then twice. He doesn't say another word, but Sam realizes, almost instinctively, that he's just been given consent.

Lucifer obviously doesn't like the bath, and he likes the water even less, but once Sam starts working the dirt and knots out of his fur, he starts to relax, and by the time Sam is finished Lucifer is purring softly, soaked in warm water, his eyes closed in bliss.

Sam gives Lucifer a brisk rubdown with his own towel, and then checks to see if Dean is still sleeping. His brother is out cold, so Sam tiptoes out and returns a few minutes later with a bag of fox jerky. He offers Lucifer some, and feels unaccountably happy when it's accepted. He knows it isn't going to do much good, in the long run – Lucifer needs a series of decent meals in order to gain back the weight he's lost, not a few pieces of cheap jerky.

"Do you think Pass the Cat is just a fad?" he asks as Lucifer eats. "It just seems so…wrong. Shipping around things that can talk like they're luggage."

"Humans are less concerned with what is wrong or right, and more with what is profitable." Lucifer sits up, licking his muzzle. "I have grown to despise humans, over the years."

"I don't blame you," Sam murmurs, and Lucifer stretches, a long, luxurious movement. His fur is beginning to dry properly – it fluffs out, looking, Sam imagines, like what clouds would look like, up on the surface. But he can't be definite about that, because he's only ever read descriptions, in books that have long ceased to be printed.

"You are different," Lucifer says. His stretch finished, he takes a step forward and places a dainty paw on Sam's knee. "One might think you were not a human at all, but a cat in human flesh. I believe I would still prefer you more if you had a tail, but I find this half-life you are leading…fascinating."

"I'm not leading a half-life," Sam protests, but Lucifer only blinks slowly, as if to humor him, and then asks to be released. And Sam, because he doesn't believe in Pass the Cat, because he doesn't want to hoard secrets and he doesn't want to know where the deep amber deposits are, makes certain that Dean is still sleeping before he holds the door open, allowing Lucifer to slip outside, into the darkness of the early morning. Sam watches him go, at first a bright white shape skirting off into the shadows, and then, slowly, nothing – Lucifer disappears, and Sam, no matter how hard he squints, can't see a thing.

He closes the door, before a sorrow spider tries to get inside, and then carefully shoves the cardboard box underneath his bed, and cleans the fur out of the tub. When Dean finally wakes up, Sam tells him that he had to send the "book" back, because it was the wrong edition.

"You're so fucking picky," Dean says, and then opens up a bag of Madam Plenty's Puffballs and throws one at Sam's head. He laughs at Sam's thunderous expression. "Don't worry, Sammy. Someday, we'll have enough money to buy you all the editions you want."

Sam doesn't say anything; he doesn't have the heart to tell Dean that that's not what he really wants.

Two weeks later, Sam opens the front door in order to go out and buy some Sugarroot Cola, and he finds another package. It's completely wrapped in tape, but when Sam picks it up he doesn't feel any movement inside.

"Hey, is that the book you ordered?" Dean asks, when he carries it inside. "The one you sent back?"

"I'm not sure." There isn't a note on the outside, not like there was last time. Sam takes his knife and slits open the tape just as cautiously, though. Just in case.

But when he finally peels back the tape and the cardboard, all there is in the box is a note, and a small, gold-glassed bottle.

"Huh," Dean says, and picks up the bottle, examining it even as Sam reaches for the note.

 _My dearest tomhuman Sam Winchester,_ it says. _There are many paths to the surface. I have merely cracked the door for you. May all your hunts be fortunate, and your home ever be full of mice._

\- L

"Dude," Dean says. " _Sam_. Look at this!"

Sam carefully folds the note in half, and then leans over to look at the bottle that Dean has been examining. There's a label on the side of it, ancient, well worn and faded, but Sam can still make out the words, and his breath catches in his throat as he reads.

 _WHOSO THIRSTETH AND DRINKETH OF THIS, SO SHALL HE NEVER DIE_


End file.
